


åt dem

by limitlessskyes



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: First Kiss, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-08
Updated: 2014-05-08
Packaged: 2018-01-24 01:05:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1586015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/limitlessskyes/pseuds/limitlessskyes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was the passing of a torch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	åt dem

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this several years ago for a friend's birthday. Slowly starting to migrate some of the better things from LJ over to here. Title means "for them".

It was, Nick thought, like the passing of the torch, as he sat in the audience at the awards, watching Sergei hand Ovechkin the Hart trophy. There was quiet pride in the elder Russian's eyes as he handed the award to his teammate, and the quiet words that were exchanged probably reflected that same pride. Nick thought it was very fitting; the first Russian to ever win the Hart, then presenting it to the nominees in a year in which all were Russian, and Sergei having mentored two of the three nominees.

Sergei looked younger than he had in years, and the simple elegance of the black suit and tie only enhanced that, seeming to make him glow under the lights, even after he'd stepped back into the shadows to let Ovechkin speak at the podium. Not long after that, the show was over, and it was even more poignantly obvious that it was a passing of the torch; he and Sergei were past their prime and finally, it was time to let someone else take over the limelight.

He didn't find Sergei after the awards, and didn't see him again until halfway through the after party, sipping at a drink and mingling through the crowd in a way that only Sergei could ever manage; Nick never had gotten the hang of the way Sergei did it, no matter how many times he tried to teach him. There was a graceful ease in which Sergei could slip through the crowd, never offending, never ignoring anyone. When finally Nick caught up to him, he had finally acquired a seat somewhere and was watching the proceedings. Nick slid into the seat next to him, plucking a drink from a waiter that was meandering through the crowd with a tray.

"So was that your goodbye to the NHL, Sergei?" Nick asked as he took a sip of the drink, referencing the rumors that Sergei was thinking of going back to Russia to play for the KHL, and also possibly to play one more time with Fedor, the little brother that had gone so astray. There was a soft chuff of laughter and then a few more moments of silence before Sergei responded.

"I'm not sure. I'd like to stay. It's up in the air, I suppose. Besides you know what's going on better than most." Sergei smiled that crooked smile, and Nick couldn't help but smile back. At their age, it seemed trite to say they were best friends, but long ago, it seemed like eons now, that's how it had started out. Two foreign kids in a strange new place, stumbling to do what they knew and loved in a place that they soon came to find out would love or hate you at the snap of a pair of fingers. Nick could still remember the accusations and the shouts that had flown when Sergei had signed with Anaheim, but his voice had never joined them. He had just stood back and watched, knowing Sergei would explain on his own time.

And now, he did the same, he waited for the explanation that he knew wouldn't come right then, but would come eventually when Sergei finally made his decision.

"That suit is very nice on you, who dressed you tonight?" Nick teased, gesturing at the suit Sergei still wore. Sergei's lips quirked in a grin.

"They assigned me a stylist." Was the dry reply, Sergei's accent further magnified by the drinks he'd already consumed that night. Nick laughed, nodding, saying it didn't surprise him, with the disasters that Sergei could pull from his closet sometimes.

"That plaid jacket was a classic!" Sergei defended himself which just made Nick laugh more.

"You looked like a used car salesman. It was bad, Sergei, bad. And don't even get me started on how bad your hair has looked over the years. It looks very nice tonight. You look very nice tonight." Nick smiled, earning himself a flashed grin back.

"You don't look so bad yourself. That tie is very nice. Not so classic as I'd expect from you." Sergei said, motioning to the diagonally striped tie Nick had paired with his suit. Nick just shrugged before his eyes swept the room again.

"Almost feels as if we don't belong here anymore, you know?" The words were thoughtful, musing, slipping out before he could realize what he was saying, but as he thought back to them, they were true. Turning back to Sergei, he saw the same thoughtful expression he'd had himself as he'd spoken.

"Mm, it does. It is Alex and Geno's party now, and Sidney's. We're far too old for this, my friend..." Sergei trailed off with a smile, before he picked up his train of thought again a few moments later, "It almost feels like we've-"

"Passed the torch on." Nick cut across him, smiling at the fact that Sergei had came to the same conclusion he had as Sergei nodded. "I had the same thought during the ceremony. You're passing it to Alex and Sasha, I'm passing it to Pavel and Hank." Sergei laughed.

"What will the next generation come to, if we're leaving it to them?" He asked with another laugh, and Nick couldn't help but laugh as well.

"Come on, let's leave it to them then, let them have their fun in Vegas." Nick smiled as he stood up. "It can't be all that bad, if we didn't wreck the league as kids... They won't either." Sergei laughed, his shoulders lifting in an agreeing shrug before he stood as well, teasingly offering his arm to Nick, who just gave him a flat look.

~

Once back in Sergei's room, they shared vodka -- the good kind, Sergei didn't abide by anything less -- and reminisced as they worked their way through the bottle.

"I am going to play in Russia." Sergei mused finally, slowly, almost as if he was tasting the words. Nick sat his glass down and sighed, and even though he'd known that was probably the case, it was still... He wasn't quite sure of the word.

"Did you just decide this, or...?" Nick asked with another sigh, sitting back on the couch; they had gone all out when they gave Sergei his room, Nick would be hard pressed to believe anyone else had a finer one. Sergei's shoulders lifted in a shrug.

"Not this second, no. It's been in the back of my mind. I wasn't sure what I wanted to do. I think though... Russia." Sergei stated with a long breath, not quite a sigh. Nick nodded a little, dragging his hand back over his hair.

"To where?" He asked, unsure if Sergei had made his decision or if his friend had just decided it in his head right then. Knowing Sergei, it was entirely possible that he hadn't even thought this through yet, but Nick didn't think that was the case, really.

"Metallurg Magnitogorsk. To play with Fedya." Sergei replied, shifting how he was sitting so that he and Nick were closer together. Nick nodded slowly, mulling this over. He had always known Sergei had wanted to play with Fedor one more time before he retired, he'd even said as much to the press at one point in time. Nick had always somehow hoped that that would be accomplished by playing on Team Russia or something of the sort, not like this. He knew it was selfish, but he didn't want his friend halfway across the world.

"When will you have to leave?" He asked, his arm settling across Sergei's shoulders and his fingers playing in the fringe of hair at Sergei's nape.

"Probably mid-July, that's when the camp starts. I might go a little bit earlier than that, I'm not sure." Sergei replied, his head leaning against Nick's shoulder. Nick's head leaned down against Sergei's as he sighed, taking in the news.

"If only Fedor hadn't been so stubborn last season..." Nick murmured, referring to the Devils debacle that had resulted in Fedor running back to Russia again, and he got an agreeing grunt from Sergei. Sergei shifted, looking up at Nick, and Nick was caught tracing the lines at the corners of Sergei's eyes with his own eyes, following each one. They were smile lines, because Sergei had done a lot of smiling in his life, and Nick couldn't help but lift his finger to smooth the pad of it along the corner of one eye. Sergei made a little questioning sound at the movement, and Nick just shook his head, continuing to watch him.

His finger traced down Sergei's face, following the curve of his jaw, his hand fanning against the skin there, cupping it. Sergei's eyes slipped closed at the touch, before they opened again and there was a little confusion in the look but also understanding. It was only when Nick noticed the understanding glint in Sergei's eyes that he realized that they were far closer than they had been just moments ago, and he was almost certain he could feel Sergei's breath against his own mouth. His fingers were still fanned against Sergei's neck, and he wondered if his heart was beating as fast as Sergei's was against his palm because he couldn't feel anything except for that and then even that was obliterated by the sudden feel of Sergei's lips against his. He wasn't sure how long it lasted, but it felt like mere seconds before they jerked apart, the loud knocking at the door startling them both to their senses, staring at each other with a little bit of a wonder.

Sergei sat up, breaking the spell, before rubbing a hand across his face, and mumbled quietly, "I should get that..." As he stumbled to his feet, and made his way to the door, opening it to find Ovechkin and Semin at the door, with the invitation to go out and party. Sergei glanced over his shoulder at Nick, and Ovechkin's gaze followed his, a knowing grin spreading across the younger Russian's face. Sergei talked quietly with Ovechkin and Semin for a moment before he shook his head and shooed them off, shutting the door.

Turning, he rested his back against the door, regarding Nick quietly before he smiled.

"Leave it to them indeed."


End file.
